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‘Alrighty then, where would you like to start?’
Lucifer beams proudly at Cain, who is standing in the middle of his penthouse looking unmoved and unmovable. Beneath their feet Lux is raging, the noise a dull pounding from inside the apartment, and outside the open doors of the balcony LA is glittering under the night sky.
‘Start?’ Cain’s voice is dry and toneless, bar a thread of scepticism. Typical.
‘Honestly, it’s like all those years alone have damaged your wits. I mean: by which of these delectable methods would you like to end your miserable existence?’
Lucifer pops his hands into his pockets and turns his body, indicating the positive wealth of options he’s laid out.
Cain’s eyebrows slowly rise on his forehead.
‘You mean the choice between a sex toy, another sex toy, a knife, and… that- what is that?’
Lucifer runs his hand lovingly over the Judas Cradle he had bought after it had been liberated from a museum in Germany.
Cain doesn’t seem impressed. Lucifer huffs out an irritated breath and waves a hand towards the bed. ‘I’ll have you know that those chains are exquisite for a nice bit of asphyxiation and don’t knock a good old fashioned belt before you’ve tried it. And of course, this is only the beginning.’
He slings an arm lightly across Cain’s broad leather-clad shoulders and tugs him around to indicate the rest of the expansive room.
‘Over here, you can see a whole array of poisons for you to, well, pick your poison. And of course, if we tire of the fun and games with all the lovely toys there’s always the bathroom.’
‘What’s in the bathroom?’
Lucifer stares at him. ‘Why water, of course. Terribly versatile, water - or have you already tried drowning?’ He asks with polite interest. ‘I don’t remember you being stashed away on Noah’s boat.’
Cain steps out of Lucifer’s loose embrace. He looks - as always - sorely lacking in humour. But then, Lucifer supposes that a few good aeons wandering the Earth aimlessly must do that to a soul.
‘And Decker-?’
‘Is right downstairs as we discussed,’ Lucifer says soothingly. ‘Hopefully getting thoroughly hammered with Maze. Dad knows she needs it.’
‘So you see,’ he smiles winningly at Cain. ‘You’re hopefully nice and vulnerable, ripe for a lovely bout of deathly experimentation. Or other experimentation,’ he looks Cain up and down mockingly, ‘if you’d rather.’
He graciously ignores Cain’s snort.
‘You do realise that if Decker is here - what that makes you?’ Cain’s gaze is sharp, challenging.
Lucifer exhales a darkly amused breath and raises his eyebrows. ‘I do believe it makes me the Devil who is so kindly doing you a favour, Cain. Now,’ he enunciates slowly and clearly, ‘where do you want to start?’
‘I’m surprised you’re so excited,’ Cain observes dryly. ‘I thought you only punished the ‘wicked’.’
‘Well, you are the world’s first murderer. I’d be a hypocrite if I punished murderers with the Detective and turned a blind eye to you, don’t you think?’ Lucifer’s tone is delicate, matching the faux-sincere expression on his face.
Cain just watches him, unwavering as always whenever Lucifer brings up his past.
‘Besides,’ Lucifer shifts and continues, a little too lightly. ‘It’s not every day I get to play executioner to an unkillable man and piss off good old dad in the bargain. It’s like killing two birds with one stone. Or, well,’ he concedes, ‘killing one immortal murdering bird and provoking an all-powerful dic- oh, you get the picture.’ He huffs.
‘Frankly, it’s like Christmas. Only, you know,’ he waves a hand irritably, ‘minus the fat red man and the annoying half-sibling.’
Lucifer trails off, feeling a tad uncomfortable in silence under the man’s flat gaze. He reminds Lucifer rather eerily of a python or some other creepy crawly, all strength and stillness, like he's just waiting for an opening to attack.
‘Well,’ Lucifer concludes, a little awkwardly, ‘as I said: dealer’s choice.’
To Lucifer’s relief, Cain finally turns away, mouth quirked up in a little bitter smile. He slowly trails a callused hand across the diverting little implements Lucifer had set out on the marble table.
‘You realise,’ he says as his hand lingers over one of Maze’s knives, either unaware or uncaring of Lucifer tensing beside him, ‘that this is going to get messy.’
He looks up, meeting Lucifer’s gaze with his own. Cain’s eyes look almost black in the dark of the penthouse; deep, old, and endless. Lucifer manfully resists an uneasy swallow.
‘Oh yes, I suppose so,’ he says instead, airily. ‘What do you expect me to do about it? Lay down some tarp?’
‘Unless you want blood all over your-’ Cain deliberately looks around, coolly taking in the stained glass windows, Sumerian stone walls and antique books, ‘-lovely home.’
Well then. Tarp it is.
But first-
‘Look, why don’t you let me get your coat? Settle in for the ride.’ Lucifer smiles, slow and unctuous. Cain huffs a short dark laugh, but permits Lucifer to slide warm hands around his shoulders to relieve him of his leather jacket.
‘Lovely,’ murmurs Lucifer as he steps away.
And then in one swift arc, his arm comes around to slice the demon blade along Cain’s throat.
-
There’s a startling amount of blood. Cain wasn’t wrong when he said it was going to get messy. Lifeforce gushes from Cain’s jugular, and he instinctively reaches up to stem the flow.
‘No, no, don’t put pressure on it,’ Lucifer snaps waspishly, knocking at Cain’s hand. ‘Honestly, do you even want to die?’
He steps back and pours himself a whiskey, doing his best to ignore the horrid gurgling sounds behind him.
He takes a sip and stares fixedly across the balcony until he hears a heavy thump. He turns and walks up to Cain, now fallen at his feet.
The man is still alive, gasping in short painful-sounding breaths as blood pools slowly around him, blue eyes already losing their focus.
Lucifer slowly crouches down over him, dark eyes taking in the piteous tableau before him. ‘You know,’ he says absently, over the sound of Cain choking, ‘I expected that to be more satisfying. After all,’ he leans in closer, putting his mouth to Cain's ear, ‘you did have me kidnapped.’
He sighs and rises to his feet as Cain breathes his last. ‘Oh well. There’s always next time. If you survive.’
He takes a sip and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Just as he's glancing at his fob watch impatiently, Cain gasps back to life, clutching his neck.
Lucifer drains his glass, suppressing something he tells himself is not relief. No, just frustration. Definitely frustration.
‘Well, darling. Fancy another round?’
-
Cain barely has time to get back on his feet before Lucifer is pulling the belt from his trouser loops and swinging it around Cain’s neck. His arms press hard against the flesh, constricting flat leather around Cain’s tender throat.
The close quarters make it possible for Cain to fight back this time and he does, the first blow surprising Lucifer and driving him down to one knee, the belt slipping loose from Cain’s neck.
Another blow, hard against the small of his back and he's pinned to the floor, arm wrenched viciously up as he's gasping, mouth inches away from the pool of Cain’s blood.
He laughs breathlessly and the grip on his arm tightens convulsively. ‘Now, now,’ he taunts, ‘you asked for this, remember?’ He breaks the hold easily and swivels on his knee to rise up beside Cain. The belt is loose in his hand and he nooses Cain quickly, sliding the leather against vulnerable throat with deceptive tenderness. Leaning closer, he murmurs, ‘is this how you fought your brother, Cain? Dirty?’
In response, Cain thrusts a leg between Lucifer’s thighs and up into his crotch, jolting Lucifer’s grip on the belt. Lucifer grimaces, aggrieved. ‘Really,’ he half-whines, ‘did you have to go for the crotch?’
Cain ignores him. ‘You want to talk about dirty?’ He rasps, provoking. ‘You just let them throw you out of Heaven without a fight?’
Lucifer snarls at the jibe but doesn’t let go of the belt. ‘I didn’t kill my brother.’
Cain laughs, a sound like nails on chalkboard. ‘That’s not what I hea-’ the ‘hear’ is choked off as Lucifer viciously tightens the belt, eyes stinging with something he does not wish to reflect on.
The leather snaps cruelly against Cain’s skin and Lucifer kicks out at Cain’s knees to drive him to the ground, dancing out of reach when Cain goes for his ankles.
It’s not enough - Cain has a greater mass and he drags Lucifer down using the belt as a leash. Lucifer savagely buries his shoe in the softness of Cain’s stomach, and goes down on top of him. Straddling him, he uses his knees to pin Cain’s arms, and pulls the belt tight.
‘Why are you fighting? Let go already.’ He hisses. He means it as a taunt but it comes out wrong, weak, like a question - or a plea. Cain's hands, clawing furiously against Lucifer’s wrists seem to slowly still, and his eyes lock with Lucifer's, something dark and unnameable shining in their depths.
Then his hands go lax and Lucifer tightens the belt until the light fades from Cain's eyes.
-
By the time Cain starts breathing again, Lucifer has flipped the failboard of his piano open and is absently playing a song he vaguely recalls from his trip in the ‘20s. A soft, melancholy melody, the notes feel uneven to him, uneasy as though reflecting his mood.
The belt he’d used to choke the life out of the other man is back around his waist, and he’s refilled his drink.
Without turning he says, ‘well, well. Look who's back in the land of the living.’
‘What is your obsession with my throat?’ Cain rasps, climbing unsteadily to his feet. Lucifer shrugs, still trying to find his rhythm.
‘Maybe I just wanted to cease your godawful yammering,’ he comments offhandedly, rising from the bench and strolling over.
Cain stares back at him, unimpressed and rubbing at his bruised neck. ‘My yammering? You're the one that never shuts up.’
He grimaces at his hoarse and no doubt painful throat, the poor thing. Lucifer passes him a drink which he accepts with poor grace.
‘This isn’t working,’ Cain says, taking a seat on one of Lucifer’s chairs.
Lucifer ignores his words. ‘Get your shirt off would you, if you’re going to sit there. I’ll not have you leaking on my poor cushions. I’m not sure how much more they can take.’
Cain gives him an unimpressed look at this, but appears to at least concede the blood-soaked shirt is a lost cause and pulls it over his head.
The physique might not be up to GQ standards, but Lucifer certainly doesn’t mind the view. Light streaks of blood smudge against dusky nipples, a fine thatch of greying hairs spreading along a broad chest. There’s a corded necklace that catches his eye but he resolves to ask the man about it later. Right now there are more pressing matters at hand.
When he finally raises his gaze to meet Cain’s, the responding look is unimpressed but appraising.
‘Hmm,’ Lucifer hums lazily. ‘Perhaps we should try something more daring.’ He turns to face Cain, a challenging smirk rising to his lips.
‘How do you feel about decapitation?’
-
Two hours later they’ve exhausted most of Lucifer’s more ridiculous attempts at ending Marcus’s existence. For most of them, Marcus could have told him exactly what would happen as a result- he’s been decapitated before, and it barely held him back. He’s drowned more than once - the Titanic comes to mind as a notable example; he’d drowned over a hundred times by the time he’d made land, in amongst the hypothermia - so Lucifer’s efforts in the hot tub (‘Now, don't forget to not hold your breath,’) had been paltry at best.
After the chainsaw he has to admit that Lucifer had gone to impressive lengths in stocking his apartment for the occasion. Even then, the limbs had knitted back together quickly enough - though the apartment was now entirely spattered with a fine coating of blood. He doubts the stains will come out well, even though they’d managed to lay a tarpaulin quickly enough in preparation for the guillotine (‘Homemade, Lieutenant. Mazikeen - you know, of the Lilim - supplied me with the demon forged blade herself.’).
Marcus blinks his eyes open, staring blankly at the cavernous heights of Lucifer’s ceiling. He’s only partially aware when he notices the sharp pain and tug at his hands. He’s lying on his back, arms spread, legs firmly forced apart. His head flops weakly to one side, and he catches sight of the pooling blood, the nails driven through his hands and into the rough wood behind him. A rough parody of crucifixion.
‘You know,’ he ventures hoarsely, ‘It's good to know you inherited your father's sick sense of humour.’
‘I thought this was what you wanted,’ Lucifer comments coolly, coming into Marcus’s view. ‘After all, I am the Devil. And this,’ he waves a lazy hand, ‘surely must count as ‘shockingly evil’, wouldn't you say? He tilts his head mockingly and smiles, eyes glittering over his glass of whiskey.
Cold ice slithers through Marcus’s stomach and he tries to hold back the tide of nausea rising in him - he has to think very hard about anything but the nails shot through his limbs. ‘So sorry to have hurt your feelings,’ he manages through clenched teeth. He ignores Lucifer’s scoff.
‘Marcus Pierce,’ the bastard muses. ‘Driving the hammer to pierce through flesh, am I right?’ He flicks an extra nail up between his fingers. ‘Where should I put this one, hmm?’
‘This isn’t going to kill me,’ Marcus growls, still trying to ignore the lines of pain shuddering up his arms.
‘Well, not immediately, no,’ Lucifer agrees. ‘Eventually you’ll expire from blood loss, I suspect, but I have something else in mind.’
‘How very reassuring.’
The sound of metal on metal draws his gaze and Lucifer, in one smooth, no doubt practised move, straddles Marcus’s knees. He’s at least a little bit hard, Marcus notes, not really surprised. The heat of his lean body pushes against his leg, and reluctantly Marcus feels a hint of answering arousal tug at his belly.
‘What are you doing?’ Marcus’s voice sounds uneven to his own ears as Lucifer, with what could only be called an unholy grin, goes for the fly of Marcus’s now blood-soaked trousers. The knife is all too close to his crotch for his liking.
For the first time since he started this ridiculous deal, Marcus feels like he may have made a miscalculation.
Lucifer, for his part, beams wickedly, every part the Devil in crimson-stained Prada. Flecks of Marcus’s blood paint his face - probably from the guillotine attempt. He looks simultaneously frightening and gleeful in the half-light.
His hands make quick work of Marcus’s trousers. ‘Lucifer,’ Marcus repeats, voice heavy with warning. ‘What are you doing?’
From where he had swiftly (far too swiftly) tugged Marcus’s jeans down, Lucifer looks up. The innocent expression on his face inspires Marcus with precisely zero confidence. ‘Why,’ he says warmly, ‘Did you know that castration if done wrongly - or rightly, depending on who you ask - has an absolutely terrible risk of fatal haemorrhage?’
Oh hell no.
In his surveillance of the Devil, Marcus had found him to be mercurial, avenging and petulant in unpredictable turns. One moment punishing the wicked without mercy, without hesitation, the next whining and following LAPD’s finest around like a lost dog at the pound.
In his surveillance of Lucifer, Marcus had also found that the best way to stop him from doing something he wanted to was, as Decker seemed to often employ, hitting him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. Metaphorically speaking.
‘Lucifer,’ he says, voice dark. The trick, as with animals and small children, was to be firm. ‘No.’
Lucifer stills, already halfway to tugging down Marcus’s briefs, damn him. He frowns, as though confused. ‘What? You’re the one who wants to die - don’t tell me you’re going to get all picky with the how.’ He scoffs. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Cain.’
Cain - Marcus - grits his teeth. ‘I'm not a beggar,’ he says sharply. ‘I’m not one of your damn supplicants and I’m not playing this game. Let me the hell up.’
They glare at each other for a moment, a struggle of wills.
Lucifer is the first to look away, scoffing loudly. ‘Really,’ he gripes. ‘You try to help a fellow out.’
A sudden move causes Marcus to flinch and then his legs are free as the knife cuts through rope like butter.
Lucifer gets up and with poor grace slices through the ties binding Marcus’s wrists to the wood. Unceremoniously, he yanks out the nail pinning his left wrist, causing Marcus to grunt in pain. ‘You can do the other one,’ Lucifer says to him and stalks out, every inch the offended cat, leaving Marcus alone in his bed with a bloody nail in his right wrist.
Well. Good to know that worked.
-
‘Lucifer.’
The being in question is standing with his back to the partitioned bedroom when Marcus emerges, the wounds in his hands sluggishly knitting together.
‘Look, this was clearly a mistake. Decker being near isn’t making me any more vulnerable than I have been in the p-’
The word chokes off as Lucifer turns. Instinctively, Marcus goes to the weapon at his hip - through all this it has been a comforting weight even though he hasn’t gone for it.
There’s a dull click of a safety coming off, and Lucifer neatly lines up a gun with Cain's head.
Lucifer’s eyes are black in the low light, and the weapon he levels at Marcus is equally as dark. It’s curiously familiar, and Marcus frowns at the Glock typically used by LAPD as a service weapon.
‘Lucifer, put the gun down.’
‘No.’ Lucifer’s voice is dark, and Marcus suspects that if he had still been in possession of a devilish visage, it would be apparent at this moment. ‘You asked for evil, so here it is.’
‘You’re hurting yourself,’ Marcus attempts to reason, sliding his hand onto the clip of his holster.
It feels wrong, somehow, and when he flicks it undone the smooth object beneath his hand is very obviously not a gun.
‘What the hell?’ He pulls out the object, feeling the odd weight and shape against his palm.
Lucifer grins viciously as Marcus stares down at it.
‘Is this a vibrator?’
‘Oh that's where I left that. Silly me.’
Marcus’s eyes narrow, and he carefully puts the sex toy down on the nearest surface. ‘How long have you had my gun?’
‘Since I took your jacket. You’ve been a little… occupied since then.’
Marcus looks at him evenly, and takes a step forward, then another, until the muzzle of the gun is pressed against his forehead.
‘Pull the trigger.’ He feels an odd sense of satisfaction at the shiver that runs through Lucifer following the order. Lucifer shakes his head.
‘Since you’re clearly not interested in my services, I’m going to have to decline. Unless there was something else you were looking for?’
Lucifer pulls the barrel of the gun away from Marcus’s temple, and very carefully slides the safety back on, eyes challenging.
‘What do you want, Lucifer?’ Marcus asks, voice finally betraying how tired and frustrated he feels after- after failing yet again.
‘Well, maybe I just want to have some fun.’ At ‘fun’ his eyes drop teasingly to Marcus’s lips and Marcus huffs a short laugh before pausing.
He contemplates the Devil, all heat and sin, someone who could just take everything Marcus would like to dish out. He huffs another breath, shaking his head in almost disbelief at what he's considering.
Then he quirks a dangerous smile.
‘Well, you should have just asked.’
And he slams Lucifer into a wall.
-
It’s easier than he would have expected to manhandle the Devil- Marcus suspects Lucifer is letting him, and that in and of itself is a heady thought.
‘I wasn’t lying when I said I’d seen everything and done everything,’ Marcus says, crowding his arms around Lucifer, effectively pinning him. ‘But you’re right. I’ve never done a deal with the devil.’
‘Alright then- well!’ Lucifer’s voice is a little breathless, his eyes bright. Marcus pushes against him experimentally, and finds he’s increasingly hard beneath his trousers.
‘Drop the gun.’ Marcus orders lightly, just to see what Lucifer will do, and is almost surprised when he hears the weapon clatter to the floor.
Without giving Lucifer the chance to anticipate Marcus’s movements, he reaches up, clutches Lucifer’s lapels and rocks him forward and backwards into the wall hard enough that air punches out of him.
‘Stay,’ Marcus orders, voice dark. ‘Good Devil.’
Lucifer snarls and disobeys immediately, matching pace for pace as Marcus backs away.
Marcus chuckles darkly. ‘You know,’ he taunts, enjoying the fire in Lucifer’s eyes. ‘I thought Decker had trained you better than that.’ He cocks a mocking eyebrow. ‘Given she's practically got you on a leash.’
There are only a few steps between their former position and the piano, and Marcus sits down as the stool bumps against his calves, gazing up at Lucifer with cool amusement.
‘You dare-?’ Lucifer growls, but he’s stalking closer, and Marcus grins, something primal and feral rearing its head inside him. It’s something he doesn’t like to entertain, something he usually tries suppress, but here, being this close to divinity, to the Devil himself, he can’t quite control it.
Or perhaps he just doesn't want to.
‘You know, you put her in danger,’ Marcus says cooly, watching the shadows play over Lucifer’s face. ‘You of all people know what your Father’s like. He’ll use any pawn he has in order to control you, and she’s right in the firing line.’
‘Oho- as opposed to the literal line of fire you put her in.’ Marcus is sure that if Lucifer still had his ‘devil face’ he’d be seeing it right now.
He snorts. ‘That's fair,’ he acknowledges. ‘But then, I'm not in love with her.’
Lucifer freezes above him as the barb hits, eyes blazing despite remaining a deep brown.
‘I'm not-’ then he stops, panting as he stands looming over Marcus.
Marcus raises a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Huh. Guess you really don't lie after all.’
Then he stands, stepping into Lucifer’s space. Slowly he raises a hand and places it firmly but gently on Lucifer’s throat.
‘And there it is,’ he says softly over Lucifer’s ragged breaths. ‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’ Lucifer says, almost an exhale. He doesn't move to remove Marcus’s hand from his throat.
Marcus smiles tightly and leans in, nice and close, until his mouth brushes Lucifer’s ear. ‘I think you need this.’
-
They stand frozen together for a moment and Marcus allows himself to enjoy the heat of Lucifer’s body, the soft skin under his fingers, the sensation of Lucifer’s throat working under his hand.
Then Lucifer wrenches his arm away and steps out of his hold. Marcus lets his arm fall to his side.
‘What the hell would you know about what I need?’
Marcus smiles to himself and turns. Lucifer has his back to him, having gravitated almost compulsively to the decanter on his piano top. His voice sounds tightly controlled but Marcus can see his hands, trembling over fine glass.
He slowly walks up to him, gaze measuring. ‘Do you have any idea how long I've been walking this Earth?’
Lucifer snorts and doesn't even bother looking at him. ‘Of course I do. What,’ he turns to give Marcus a snide smile, ‘are you going to natter on about your sad immortal life, the terrible pain you live with on a daily basis, how you suffered, et cetera, et flaming cetera? The interminable sexual frustration of never having a snog?’ He gives Marcus a little mocking grimace. ‘Because frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.’
Marcus can't help it, he huffs a brittle laugh. The insulted look on the Devil's face only makes him laugh harder. He smiles, amused at the look of confusion on Lucifer’s face. ‘You know, you're not what I expected.’
Lucifer eyes him, almost suspiciously. ‘Oh, and what did you expect? Something ‘shockingly evil’?’
He hides his face in his glass and Marcus smiles to himself, almost charmed. ‘You’re like a bear with a sore paw about that, aren't you?’
At Lucifer's glare - more petulant teenager to Marcus’s old eyes than ancient evil from the dawn of time - Marcus sighs and approaches him. ‘I think you spend a lot of time pretending to be something you're not. And I know from experience that can be...’ he pauses before releasing a deep breath, ‘exhausting’.
Far from engaging with this, Lucifer just looks outraged. ‘I do not,’ he snarls. ‘I don't lie. I have never hidden who and what I am, I-’
‘And they don't believe you,’ Marcus cuts across him vehemently. ‘They will never believe you, not without absolute proof. And trust me, you don't want to do that.’ He exhales bitterly. ‘From my experience it never ends well.’
‘Linda accepted me.’
Marcus looks at him, unmoved. ‘Your therapist. And look what happened to her.’
That seems to hit a nerve as Lucifer actually flinches, eyes falling away, but Marcus finds he takes little pleasure in it.
‘Like I said,’ he says quietly, ‘never ends well.’
A moment passes with them standing inches away, caught in their respective thoughts.
Then Marcus sighs and goes to grab his jacket. The shirt - like his visit here - is a complete write off. Riding home to his miserable hotel room is going to be fun bare-chested under the jacket and in blood-soaked jeans, but whatever. He's had worse.
‘What are you doing?’
Lucifer seems puzzled, forehead all scrunched up. Marcus notes with a hint of petty satisfaction that at least he's covered in blood too.
‘Leaving. You offered a deal; it didn't pan out.’ He smiles tightly. ‘I'll be on my way.’
He goes to towards the lift only for Lucifer’s hand to snake out, seizing him by the bicep. A muscle in Marcus’s jaw ticks. ‘What do you want, Lucifer?’
He looks at Lucifer, ready for another fight but the Devil looks uneasy. Vulnerable, even.
Then he smiles sharply and that impression vanishes like a mirage, or a mother's love.
‘What say we... renegotiate?’
Marcus’s eyebrow rises. With a sceptical snort he easily frees himself from the loose hold. He turns to face Lucifer, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘Oh?’
Lucifer smiles, deep and dark. ‘Well now. You may have done a deal with the Devil but you haven't ever done the Devil, now have you?’
-
Marcus snorts at the ridiculous line, ready to dismiss it as more idiocy and be on his way. But then he regards Lucifer, taking in the dark eyes, the tight suit and knowing smile. Well, there was a reason he had once been considered the fairest of the angels.
He cocks his head to the side, considering. ‘A new deal?’ He says and crosses his arms, face an impassive mask. ‘Alright. I’ll bite. Terms?’
Lucifer raises a delicate eyebrow and smiles, a little too widely, enticing. ‘You’re driving this ride, Lieutenant; you set the terms.’ He eyes Marcus, challenging over the lip of his glass.
To Marcus, already sore and frustrated after a long night of not dying and dealing with, well, this, the idea of meeting that challenge isn’t… unappealing.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Fine,’ he agrees dryly. ‘For my terms, how about: you-’ he presses a hand to Lucifer’s chest, not quite pushing, not yet, and smiles as he feels Lucifer’s muscles jump under his palm, ‘do what I say.’ He tilts his head.
‘That’s it?’ Lucifer sounds disbelieving. ‘No threats about how you’ll strap me red if I disobey?’
Marcus just looks at him calmly. ‘No.’
He watches as Lucifer shivers and very slowly licks his lips. ‘Well now,’ Lucifer murmurs. ‘If you say so, Mr Lieutenant sir.’
Marcus snorts wryly and ignores the heat coiling in his gut. ‘And what do you want?’
Lucifer laughs shortly. ‘What, my heart's desire? That’s usually my line, darling.’ He scoffs then takes a languid sip of his drink. ‘Other than the mind-blowing sex you’d best be offering? Oh, I don't know,’ he says, faux-casually. ‘Perhaps a few minor little things, since we're negotiating.’
He hums to himself as though deep in thought before abruptly snarling, dark eyes flashing. ‘How about: you don't ever put the Detective in danger like that again - not unless you really wish for us to revisit that castration.’ With an obvious effort he reins in his wrath and smiles, eyes glittering. ‘Apart from that,’ he drawls, ‘I really would love a better parking spot.’
As an afterthought, he adds, ‘Oh and I will of course, continue to try to end your eternal misery, but consider that a freebie. Pro bono, even.’ He tosses Marcus a mocking wink.
Marcus huffs a reluctant laugh. ‘Yes to the first. No to the parking spot. You know damn well you park wherever you please regardless. You also know that Decker isn’t going to stay out of danger just because you want her to.’
‘Which means she doesn’t need your help doing it,’ Lucifer snaps.
Marcus nods his assent and holds out his hand. ‘Deal.’
‘Lovely,’ Lucifer purrs, and drops to his knees.
-
For the second time tonight, Lucifer nimbly sets about getting the Lieutenant out of his unnecessary undergarments, quite eager to get this show on the road.
However above him Cain- oh, sorry, Pierce, because that isn’t the most homoerotic pseudonym Lucifer has ever heard- just shakes his head. ‘Bedroom, Lucifer.’
Lucifer rolls his eyes - honestly, how vanilla - but goes willingly.
He rises to his feet but is then surprised as Pierce manhandles him, spinning him roughly face first into the wall. ‘Oh!’ He laughs. ‘Someone’s feeling frisky.’
‘Do you-’ callused hands wrench his arms up his back, causing Lucifer to arch his back with a startled moan, ‘-ever-’ cool metal circling around bare wrists, ‘-shut up?’ The cuffs click closed and Pierce pushes Lucifer in the wall for good measure, warm, firm body pressing a fabulous line across his own. And Lucifer knows for a fact that the package pushing nice and firm across his arse can’t be his gun.
Lucifer thinks he might just be in Heaven. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
‘I don’t know,’ he purrs, provocative. ‘Maybe you’ll have to gag me.’
Pierce huffs a warm exhale into Lucifer’s neck but whispers harshly as hands tighten on Lucifer’s arms, ‘don't tempt me.’
Lucifer suppresses a delighted shiver. This is turning out better than expected. Who knew that the way to this man’s sex drive was just to trying killing him half a dozen or so times?
‘Well, are we going to stand here all night? Get a move on,’ Lucifer taunts, prompting an actual to goodness growl as Pierce yanks him around, giving him a shove in the direction of Lucifer’s bedroom.
Lucifer staggers, nearly falling atop his Steinway. He catches Pierce giving the piano a speculative look. ‘Oh, no,’ says Lucifer, appalled. ‘Don’t even think it. I am not going to shag you on my piano. What did it ever do to you?’
Pierce raises an amused eyebrow, lazily stalking after him. ‘You’re mouthy. Didn’t your father ever teach you manners?’
Lucifer’s eyes flash. ‘Your father gave me a different kind of education,’ he says dangerously before managing a vicious smile. ‘Forbidden fruit and all that.’
Cain stares at him for a moment, looking for the first time vaguely horrified, before snorting. ‘New deal term - how about we agree not to talk about each other’s parents?’
Lucifer smirks. ‘Declined. Your mother, Cain, oh I have so many stories, I don’t even know where to begin. And then there was that time I had both of them-’
‘Keep talking, Samael, and the deal’s off.’
‘Well, you certainly know how to take the fun out of a situation,’ Lucifer pouts. ‘But, fine. No parents during sex, will that suit you? And none of that either,’ he snaps dangerously. ‘Use the name Samael again and I will make sure your tongue never returns to your mouth.’
Pierce just raises his eyebrows. ‘And,’ Lucifer adds grudgingly. ‘I shall call you Marcus if that is what you truly desire.’
‘Right now,’ Marcus says with a sternness belied by the amusement in his eyes, ‘I desire you, on your back or ass in the air.’
‘Ooh, Lieutenant. I’m impressed. And such a way with words, be still my beating heart. Or should that be yours?’ He smirks playfully.
‘Move, Lucifer,’ Marcus gives him a shove, and Lucifer practically purrs at the touch.
The bed is still sordid from their activities earlier, but Marcus throws the bloodstained board to one side and strips the top covers away to reveal black silk sheets.
‘Lube?’
‘Top drawer,’ Lucifer directs. ‘You know, it’ll be rather difficult for me to lie on the bed with my hands cuffed behind my back.’
‘Somehow you’ll manage,’ Marcus dismisses, walking to open the top drawer. ‘Go, Lucifer.’
A frisson of warmth floods Lucifer’s stomach as he obeys, hedonistic pleasure from the orders and the situation. Lust and desire and all these excellent feelings planet Earth provides. With his wrists pinned beneath him the bones complain bitterly, so with a quick sleight of hand he lets himself loose, rearranging the cuffs so he can stretch his arms up above his head instead.
‘Maybe not a strap,’ Marcus’s face looms over him as he settles against the pillows, ‘but there are consequences to your actions.’
‘What did I do?’ Lucifer protests innocently. ‘I’m just looking out for your interests. And mine,’ he acknowledges at Marcus’s expression. ‘Look, you do want me to be comfortable, don’t you?’ he wheedles.
Marcus snorts. ‘What gives you that impression?’ He leans over Lucifer, hands going to the cuffs and undoing them.
Lucifer nearly whines. ‘Oh come on, Lieutenant, it was just a bit of sleight of hand.’
Marcus eyes him. ‘Telekinesis.’
‘Ha,’ Lucifer barks. ‘If only. No, Lieutenant, I am just that good I’m afraid.’ Marcus doesn’t reply, but Lucifer can hear the cuffs clattering above his head. He lets out an impatient huff. ‘Look, there are anchor points in the wall behind the bed-head. Honestly.’
‘Only you would have a bed this difficult,’ Marcus grumbles, even as Lucifer hears the sound of metal sliding through metal. One of his wrists is slid into a ring, and then there’s banging - presumably while Marcus attempts to find another set of cuffs.
‘Second drawer down, to the left. No, my left, next to the strap-ons. Look, can you get a move on? I’m starting to get bored.’
‘I need to find something to put in your mouth,’ Marcus mutters, kneeling up on the bed to loom over Lucifer so he can affix the other cuff.
‘Oh yes please,’ Lucifer purrs, and Marcus huffs a laugh. ‘Right. Now you’ve got me tethered like a good dog, perhaps you can actually make a move.’
He yelps as, with a sudden, violent movement, Marcus wrenches his shirt open and down against his shoulders, pinning them as buttons skitter away. ‘Well,’ breathes Lucifer, impressed and slightly horrified at the wanton destruction of his stained white shirt. ‘Aren't we the little barbarian? What do you think this is, a bodice ripper?’
Marcus doesn’t reply, but the slide against Lucifer’s crotch is delicious when the man goes to move down his body such that his knees are straddling Lucifer’s hips instead of his chest.
And then Marcus is leaning down and- kissing him. The kiss is violent and angry- Lucifer tastes blood from the way their mouths are trapped between warring teeth. When Lucifer opens his mouth to let Marcus in, Marcus moans and pins him, licking up against the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth.
There’s a quiet moment as Marcus just stills, mouth hot on Lucifer’s, breathing heavily in and out of his nose. Then he pulls back.
‘Stay still,’ he orders. Lucifer takes the thrill that shoots up his spine and grins lasciviously. Marcus’s hands go to Lucifer’s belt, the same belt that choked him to death only hours earlier. Lucifer licks his lips as Marcus makes quick work of his zipper. He’s not wearing underwear - ditched any attempt at that nonsense after the sojourn to the hot tub - and his cock is hot and full when Marcus pulls it free.
Only to snap on of Lucifer’s cock-ring around it, pulling the band snug against his balls.
Lucifer whines in frustration, tugging against the cuffs. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Deadly,’ Marcus laughs darkly, and Lucifer snarls a little. ‘There’s only one thing I want from you.’
His fingers slide into Lucifer’s tight pants, snagging a little and causing Marcus to growl and tug hard against the fabric to pull it down around Lucifer’s knees.
‘Kick them off,’ Marcus orders, and Lucifer twists uncomfortably under Marcus as he tries to get his legs free of the clothing. ‘Good,’ Marcus praises when he finally succeeds. And then there’s a hand under him, one lubed finger sliding immediately inside Lucifer. He hadn’t even heard the crack of the KY opening, but there it is, in Marcus’s free hand, beads of lube around the opening.
Lucifer grunts as Marcus pushes in further - the man’s calloused fingers feel bloody huge - but takes a deep shuddering breath and enjoys the fireworks kicking up inside him at the intrusion. ‘You okay, Lucifer?’
‘Oh, no don’t ask,’ Lucifer gripes. ‘Just get moving, won’t you?’
Marcus’s face is aggravatingly smug and amused but he doesn’t reply, just swirls his finger around a little more before withdrawing. He pours a generous amount of lube over his other fingers, and then they’re disappearing again so that two can push inside Lucifer.
‘Hell,’ Lucifer grunts. ‘I can hardly feel it. Honestly. Come on.’
Marcus quite obviously doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t comment, just slides his fingers in and out slowly before starting to scissor them with a positively glacial lack of speed. Lucifer groans when one stray movement hits a little close to home, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation. Which is when Marcus withdraws his fingers, the arse. Lucifer braces himself in anticipation - only to whine as the blasted man slowly inserts three fingers in instead.
‘Alright, seriously now,’ Lucifer pants, pushing down, trying to get that lovely spark back. ‘Get on with the main attraction, will you? I haven’t got all century.’ He forces the words out behind clenched teeth, trying to retain some control over himself.
‘Patience,’ Marcus tuts, infuriatingly, but he’s pulling his fingers out, and Lucifer opens his eyes to see him touch lube-slick fingers to his belt.
‘Is a virtue I have no time for,’ Lucifer complains, eyes fixed on Marcus’s hands and feeling empty from the absence of his fingers. ‘Now hurry the hell up and pull out whatever monstrosity I’m sure you’re hiding in those trousers.’
Marcus chuckles and then shucks his trousers and briefs. Lucifer licks his lips. ‘Well now,’ he says reluctantly impressed, ‘I suppose that file on me must be quite the read, indeed. Just look at that Johnson.’
That earns a bark of a laugh from Marcus who looks a little too pleased and in control for Lucifer’s liking. Lucifer narrows his eyes.
‘You know,’ he muses. ‘Adam had quite a sizeable-’
‘No,’ Marcus’s hand, slick from lube, slaps down hard on Lucifer’s mouth. Lucifer grins. ‘You gave me your word.’
Lucifer looks at him challengingly, and then rolls his eyes, which is apparently enough agreement, because Marcus pulls away again. ‘Very well,’ he accedes with mock-contrition. ‘No point comparisons, promise.’ As Marcus settles back, parting Lucifer’s thighs to lift him up, Lucifer adds slyly, ‘there are a great many humans by that name you know.’
‘I know,’ Marcus agrees, drawing Lucifer’s legs out so that he can fit snugly against him. ‘And I’m sure you’ve had sex with a lot of them. Now shut up.’
The thrust Marcus lines up is delicious - not quite in the right place but getting there, and Lucifer is very acutely aware of the way his cock is slapping against his belly, hard and wanting.
‘Be a good lad and do something about this won’t you?’ he pants once Marcus is fully seated in him and just not moving.
‘No,’ Marcus grunts, his face contorted into something akin to pained bliss. Lucifer’s seen that expression a million times and it’s rarely been so sweet.
‘Then move,’ Lucifer snaps. It’s heady when Marcus obeys, steady slides that rock close to Lucifer’s sweet spot. It makes his cock twitch, and he snarls a little when the pleasure gets too much.
They lose themselves for a while in heat and motion, quiet except for the moans and grunts that go with heavy, sweaty deliciousness. The blasted man seems hellbent on drawing it out, in turns rough and punishing and slower, almost taunting.
He also seems to be disgustingly good at this, Lucifer notes grudgingly, vicious, novel tricks and twists to keep Lucifer - who prior to tonight had been fairly certain he'd done everything in the sexual playbook - on his toes.
The bastard seems determined to break him, wringing cry after cry from his lips, driving him to point where he is certain he has bruises on his wrists from straining his cuffs.
Lucifer tosses his head, half delirious with pleasure. Rendered vulnerable by the Detective just downstairs, everything seems more intense and powerful than usual, every ache and jolt of pleasure amplified extraordinarily. Is this how humans feel when Lucifer graces them with his talents? Lucky bastards.
He desperately wishes his hands were free to claw up Marcus’s back. ‘Well,’ he says, sounding dazed even to his own ears, ‘I guess you weren't exaggerating when you said you had seen and done it all. This-’ he gasps at a particularly hard thrust, legs helplessly twining around Marcus’s in lieu of his poor bound arms, ‘-is quite the revelation.’
Marcus gives a grunt into the crook of Lucifer’s neck, sounding guttural. Animalistic. Lucifer feels a pulse of victorious glee that at least he isn't the only one affected by this.
‘Yeah? Glad to know-’ he grunts at another hard thrust- ‘that even the Devil can be taught new tricks.’ He pushes in again wringing a gasp from Lucifer.
Irritated, Lucifer bites him on the ear, basking in the man's groan. ‘No name calling in bed,’ he chastises. He moans, startled by a wave of pleasure as Marcus manages to hit the right spot at just the right angle. Bloody hell.
‘Thought you'd be into that,’ Marcus says, voice hoarse. ‘You seem the type.’ His arms, ridiculously thick and corded with muscle, bracket Lucifer’s head.
Lucifer pants as another wave of pleasure hits him. ‘Not a fan, actually. Get enough of that out of bed, thank you.’
Marcus doesn't reply, too busy apparently trying to fuck Lucifer into a coma. The man's like a machine, Lucifer thinks with stunned approval.
Another thrust pushes him into the bed and slams the back of Lucifer’s skull into the headboard. He groans, half in ecstasy, half pain.
He turns his head and pants, allowing himself to revel in that rare, rather wonderful feeling of helplessness. Between his vulnerability and his playful vow to go along the man’s commands for the night, he feels the most alive he's felt during sex for - well. A while, really. Every inch of him seems to be positively thrumming with sensation, like a particularly excellent batch of LSD. Lovely.
As his eyes refocus, it's to a familiar pattern on Marcus’s bicep. The Mark of Cain, obscured as it is by his military tattoo.
Lucifer grins at a sudden thought and bites just above it. Marcus grunts at him, stilling his movements. He stares down at Lucifer who smirks up at him impishly. ‘What?’ he says smugly. ‘Just thought I’d leave you with a mark of my own. The Devil’s mark if you like, to memorialise our petit mort.’
Marcus, still infuriatingly motionless, looks disbelieving, and then, to Lucifer’s surprise, he laughs softly. ‘What?’ repeats Lucifer, confused and suspicious.
Marcus smiles down at him, eyes glinting. ‘You’re really not what I expected.’
‘No?’ says Lucifer, sensing a trap.
‘No,’ grunts Marcus finally moving again. ‘I’ve figured you out.’
Lucifer watches him closely. ‘Oh? And what,’ he hisses as Marcus damn near pins him to the mattress, ‘do you think you’ve ‘figured out’?’
He feels Marcus lips curve in the line of Lucifer’s neck. His mouth drags slowly around the lobe of Lucifer’s ear, making his skin tingle. Lucifer half whines at the sensation. ‘You’re an idiot,’ Marcus rumbles.
Lucifer wishes he’d bit him harder. ‘Tough words from the controlling wanker,’ he grumbles. ‘Or do you take all your subordinates to bed?’
A puff of warm air against his cheek. ‘Just the ones who want to be put on their knees.’
Irritated and still disgustingly turned on, Lucifer kicks him. ‘Well, do you know what I think?’
Marcus drags his teeth lazily on Lucifer’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
Lucifer pulls away from him and glares. ‘I think you need this,’ he parrots, staring deep into Marcus’s eyes, using just a hint of his dad-given power to tug. ‘Don’t you?’
Marcus’s gaze darkens, arrested in his movements as Lucifer smirks up at him, pleased with turning the tables. ‘You,’ he over enunciates, ‘need this, need to be in control, need to give in to your,’ he smiles widely, teeth flashing, ‘violent wicked little desires. And who better than to scratch your itch than the Devil himself?’
Marcus’s throat works, Adam’s apple (ha) bobbing. Then, with a gentleness that serves only to piss Lucifer off, slowly presses Lucifer back down into the mattress. ‘You talk too much.’
And then he’s pushing, hard and relentless and Lucifer is gasping, twisting and close, if only he could get this wretched thing off his bloody cock -
And then finally, bloody finally, Marcus is groaning, arms shaking on either side of Lucifer’s head. There’s a sharp sting as he releases inside Lucifer, and Lucifer kicks at the frustration of not being able to join him.
‘Touch me,’ he snarls angrily when Marcus just slumps over him like a stunned fish, eyes dazed from his orgasm. Lucifer rolls his eyes. He'd almost forgotten the man was human - knowing Lucifer’s luck he's probably about to start snoring. He knees Marcus pointedly. He wants that release too, is aching for it.
‘No,’ Marcus is firm, even as he sits up, voice slurred and weak from the aftershocks.
‘Well then, what the hell do you bloody want from me?’ Lucifer snaps, bucking his hips impatiently. ‘Because I distinctly remember putting mind blowing sex on the table for our terms and I don't think this counts.’
‘Ask nicely,’ Marcus orders lazily, mouth crooked, as he withdraws slowly from inside Lucifer.
‘You want me to beg?’ Lucifer exclaims, before rolling his eyes and tugging insistently at the cuffs. He could get them off in a trice but he did give his word. Bollocks. ‘You really do like the all tall and in command thing, don’t you? It's not nearly as attractive as you think it is.’
Marcus snorts. ‘Thought you didn't lie.’ Lucifer does not like his smirk one bit.
‘I don’t,’ Lucifer sniffs, insulted. ‘Very well then,’ he concedes. ‘Please, you big strong caveman, you. Take this sodding thing off so I can come. I beseech you.’
Marcus’s face is unimpressed and Lucifer holds in a frustrated growl.
‘Sincerely, Lucifer,’ he orders, far too calmly. He gently lowers Lucifer’s legs to the bed, shuffling out to sit beside him instead of between his thighs. ‘I can wait,’ he smiles a tad bitterly. ‘We only have all of eternity.’
And from the look on his face he'd probably be content to bloody sit there for every second of it, Lucifer thinks savagely.
‘Oh very well,’ Lucifer snarls. He takes a deep breath, harnessing the desperation welling inside him, trying to swallow his pride - before giving it up as a bad job. ‘No, can’t do it. Do me a favour and I’ll do you one.’
‘Another?’ Marcus raises his eyebrows, but he looks intrigued.
‘Yes,’ Lucifer grumbles. ‘Go fetch that gun you left in the entry hall.’
There's a raised eyebrow in response and Lucifer huffs. ‘Please.’
Marcus frowns, but there’s movement as he shifts off the bed. Lucifer growls when he’s out of the room and attempts to roll if only to thrust at the bed a little. Marcus is faster than expected though, and he slaps hard at Lucifer’s thigh when he returns to find him on his side.
‘Oh that’s perfect,’ Lucifer purrs, gasping against the way the blow sent shocks through his dick.
Marcus however just raises an eyebrow and pointedly takes his hand off Lucifer, watching him with a smug glint in his eyes. Lucifer glares at him before growling in frustration, and finally giving in. ‘Oh, fine. Pierce, Lieutenant - Marcus, please. Please. I’m begging you, alright? You of all people. Just let me sodding come.’
The last word comes out almost as a sob. Pierce, that bastard, doesn't reply for a moment, just watching as Lucifer strains against the cuffs. Then he smiles, slow and warm.
‘Since you ask so nicely.’
And then the cock ring is off, and with one rough painful blissful stroke, Marcus has Lucifer coming, so hard he almost blacks out.
He shudders through the waves and waves of pleasure - made all the more intense by the edge play, not usually his bag but well done Lieutenant - before flopping bonelessly on the mattress.
‘Gosh,’ he says distantly, coming down from the high, practically buzzing. ‘You do like to make me work for it, don't you?’
Then he slips out of the cuffs and, in one smooth action picks up the gun.
-
Marcus just raises an eyebrow at the gun in his face.
Heedless of the muzzle aimed right at his head, he reaches to pick up the discarded cuffs. He dangles them slowly from his finger.
‘Funny. I don't remember saying you could slip these.’
Lucifer huffs. ‘Well, you didn't actually say I couldn't.’ He ignores Marcus’s wry snort. Irritated, he waves the gun in Marcus’s face. ‘Our deal was I do as you say, not as you don’t say. Is it my fault if you're not specific?’
‘What do you want, Lucifer?’ Marcus sounds annoyingly bored.
‘Well, I couldn’t help but notice,’ Lucifer purrs, shuffling to sit in a more comfortable position against the headboard. ‘How excited you were getting at the prospect of death earlier.’
Marcus doesn’t move his eyebrows. ‘I remember you declining to shoot me.’
‘I had an idea,’ Lucifer admits, eyes flicking down to focus on the gun, ‘that maybe you could oblige.’ He flicks his eyes up, looking at Marcus from under his eyelashes, taunting.
There’s a flash of something unreadable across Marcus’s face, and then he’s leaning in close, as if to kiss Lucifer, and then the muzzle of the gun is in his mouth.
Lucifer makes a choked noise, something hot spreading inside him, and licks his lips as Marcus holds eye contact and slowly slides his lips further forward along the gun’s length.
‘Bloody hell,’ Lucifer hisses, simultaneously cursing and thrilled at his seemingly endless ability to get it up. Lips curving up mockingly, Marcus pushes the gun as far as it can go into his mouth. Lucifer watches, eyes helplessly tracking the red mouth, the stern jaw.
And then, with a wet sound, and without dropping eye contact, Marcus starts fucking his own face on it.
Lucifer’s fingers are not trembling - not even slightly - as they rest on the finger guard, only millimeters away from Marcus’s skin. Breath caught, he draws them back, keeping eye contact with Marcus the entire time, and very gently-
-pulls the trigger.
The sound of the blank cartridge firing is deafening, and Marcus’s flinch is extremely satisfying. There’s a moment while both immortals freeze, and then Marcus lets out a disbelieving huff, beginning to slide backwards just as Lucifer’s finger goes back onto the trigger.
‘Well,’ breathes Lucifer warmly. ‘It wouldn’t do to be predictable now, would it?’ Then he squeezes the trigger home.
-
And far below on the floor of Lux, Chloe Decker abruptly sits up out of a half-drunk stupor.
‘Was that a gunshot?’
-
Lucifer is curled up like a cat in his favourite armchair when the elevator doors open.
‘Detective!’ His face is lit up in the dim light, and he rises from the chair, wrapping his silk robe tighter around himself. ‘How lovely to see you- ah,’ he cuts himself off, presumably at the look on her face as she takes in the mess that is his apartment.
‘What happened?’ She gasps, hand going to her hip where her gun sits. ‘It looks like-’
‘A murder scene?’ The dry voice that comes from Lucifer’s bedroom is uncomfortably familiar. Lieutenant Pierce. She spins on one foot to stare in his direction.
He is shirtless, a towel wrapped around his hips, corded necklace clinging to a - likely damp - well-formed chest. Chloe bites down hard on her lip at the sight.
‘Oh for-’ Lucifer huffs, stepping between them. ‘Look, er. I can explain! The Lieutenant was showing me the differences between arterial spray and other blood patterns.’ He smirks as if pleased with himself for some reason.
‘With fake blood, obviously,’ Pierce adds in, shooting Lucifer a dark look Chloe can’t interpret.
‘Obviously,’ Chloe echoes, like that makes any sense whatsoever.
‘All his idea of course,’ Lucifer adds with an odd amount of glee. ‘You never suspect the wholesome ones, do you? Seems like a lovely homegrown boy from Kansas and then-’
‘The bottle got knocked over,’ Pierce cuts Lucifer off, eyes rolling only a little bit in frustration, ‘that’s why there’s blood everywhere. But it’s fake,’ he repeats.
‘Oh course. It would have to be, wouldn't it?,’ Lucifer agrees cheerily. ‘Because that much blood loss would kill a person. Obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ repeats Chloe for a second time, still somewhat dazed and confused. She laughs a little uncomfortably and is relieved when Lucifer joins in. Pierce’s face remains stony and under his flat gaze their laughter peters off awkwardly. ‘Um,’ says Chloe. ‘And… the towel?’
‘Well, Marcus got a little bit… messy-’ Lucifer grins, no doubt gleeful at some childish double entendre Chloe has missed out on.
‘Lucifer lent me his shower,’ Pierce explains, holding the towel in a tight grip.
‘Right,’ Chloe agrees a little awkwardly, filing the use of ‘Marcus’ away for thought later. Then she rallies. ‘I thought I heard a gunshot.’
‘Did you?’ Asks Lucifer disingenuously. ‘How very frightening. Well me and mine are perfectly fine, aren’t we Marcus?’
‘Yeah,’ Pierce agrees flatly. ‘Dandy. Look, I should go.’
But Chloe’s mind is still turning over the gunshot and weird scene in front of her. ‘Why aren't you dressed?’ She asks Lucifer suddenly.
Lucifer blinks at her innocently. ‘Well, Detective, it is rather late.’
Okay, Chloe knows she's drunk, but she's not that drunk.
‘But Lieutenant Pierce came to your penthouse, which is now covered in blood-’
‘Fake blood,’ interrupts Pierce abruptly. He seems weirdly fixed on that point.
‘Fake blood, because the Lieutenant wanted to show you ‘arterial patterns’. Sure,’ says Chloe sarcastically, ‘Because that sounds just like him. Uh. No offense. Sir.’
‘None taken, Decker.’
‘And,’ continues Chloe doggedly, ‘you're both naked.’
She sees Lucifer open his mouth in denial.
‘Half naked,’ she snaps. She stares at them angrily, Lucifer still curled up on his little loveseat, bare legs poking out under his silk dressing gown and Piece still freaking shirtless towering next to him.
Chloe glares at them, suddenly furious. ‘Why don't you guys just admit you're having sex?’
She pushes down a flash of hurt. They're adults, if they want to have sex together then that’s none of her busin-
‘Because it's none of your business, Decker.’
Wow. ‘Right,’ fumes Chloe. ‘Yeah, of course it isn't. It's not like you’re,’ she waves an angry hand at Pierce, ‘my boss. And you,’ she half snaps at Lucifer, ‘are my partner. Yeah. Why the hell why I care?’ She huffs, nearly tossing her hands up in the air.
‘Well,’ she adds, backing away angrily, ‘you can just, just have all the - the weird kinky fake blood sex you want because I don't care!’
‘Detective!’ Lucifer has the actual goddamn temerity to look hurt. ‘I-’
‘Good,’ Pierce cuts him off. ‘See you at work, Decker.’
And then that, that absolute dick, dismisses her and walks away to Lucifer’s bedroom. Chloe just gapes at Lucifer, who is looking oddly small and upset.
‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘Do what you always do, not like I can stop you.’
With that, she turns on her heel and stomps out of the apartment. Oh, Maze is going to hear about this.
-
‘Really did you have to be so... you? We could be having a threesome right now!’ Lucifer’s tone, as far as Marcus is concerned, is petulant at best.
Marcus rolls his eyes. ‘She'll forgive you. She always seems to.’
Lucifer heaves a sigh. ‘Yes, well. I suppose there's always next time.’
‘Next time,’ Marcus sighs, shaking his head.
‘Imagine what she’d be like if she knew what you really were,’ Lucifer comments lazily, leaning against the wall at the entrance to his own bedroom.
Marcus meets Lucifer’s gaze levelly. ‘And what am I?’
Lucifer blinks twice and then cocks his head to one side, considering. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure.’
Then he smiles, dark and warm. ‘Shall we figure it out?’